Protective
by dreamydaydreamer
Summary: Hulk liked to protect his team. That's why Fury was banging his head off his desk in resignation. Banner did not approve of agents giving Barton a hard time because of his possession, especially not when the team was enjoying some downtime in the park. They dealt with the agents in various ways, but Fury just wants to know why one of his agents is in Antarctica. No slash. Oneshots
1. The Woes of Nicholas Fury

There were few things that could make Bruce Banner truly angry. People thought that he had no control at all, thought that he would blow up at the slightest provocation. They were wrong.

Oh, sure, there were things which irritated him, annoyed him, irked him, drove him insane even, but over the years he had almost perfected his control until there was very little which could make him accidentally let out the other guy. Unfortunately, one of those few things was currently taking place in the middle of Venna Park.

"Look, there's the _murderer_."

"Bloody traitor!"

"Freaky archer didn't even use a gun to murder them!"

Three SHIELD agents. Survivors of the attack on the helicarrier. Unlike so many of their friends and comrades, who were struck down by the unerring aim of Hawkeye. Unwilling or not, he had still killed them and these men were not abut to let it go.

The day had started so well. Steve had made bacon and eggs for breakfast, which they had devoured in their usual family style method of helping themselves to each other's plate. Tony had had a play wrestling match with Clint (and lost in a truly _spectacular _manner) and Bruce had managed not to let the other guy freak out over "metal man" and "Cupid" hurting each other. He was quietly pleased with himself for that. Usually if the Hulk thought they were being threatened he would smash first and ask questions later, but he was getting better at listening to reason. Sometimes.

Then Thor had professed his love for eating outside and Steve had immediately suggested a good old fashioned picnic. Tony had huffed and complained that grass would ruin his jeans and give him hay fever and what was wrong with a nice shawarma restaurant anyway, but he still bought an enormous hamper and stuffed it with food and grinned when he thought nobody was watching.

So, that brought them to now. The food had been demolished except for a few sandwiches lying abandoned on the obligatory red and white rug (brand new, 100% cashmere, though Stark swore up and down it had been in the cupboard for ages) and they were just sitting around and chatting, enjoying down time. Their day had been rudely interrupted by the arrival of the agents, unfortunately on leave at the same time that they were having their picnic. Really, of all the places in New York for secret operatives and heroes to hang out on a Tuesday, Venna Park seemed to be the main attraction. Perhaps he should study it further when they got home. But for now, there were three men playing on Clint's biggest regret and insecurity, and there wasn't much they could do to stop them.

He glanced over to where Clint sat beside Natasha, scanning him. Whereas before the agents had shown up, he was as close to relaxed as an ex-assassin ever got, sprawled out with Natasha's feet on his stomach, now he was sitting upright in what seemed an almost painfully straight posture. His muscles were as tense as the string on his bow, which they hadn't been able to convince him not to bring. It sat across his knees, knuckles white with strain as he clenched his fists around it. He flinched slightly as Natasha put a hand on his shoulder. Bruce sighed as the Hulk roared indignantly.

_They're making Cupid sad!_

_I know, but we can't hurt them._

_They're hurting him though, _the mental voice pointed out quite logically. Logic. Not something he had ever associated with the Hulk, but they had been getting better at working together.

_Yes, but..._

_You were bullied at school. You were sad. How does he feel?_

Bruce paused to consider that. Clint's usually blank face had been happy earlier. Now it was expressionless again, but Bruce could see the sadness, regret, bitterness, _self loathing _in his eyes. He saw red. None of them had any business hating themself but him. He put his sandwich down and stood up.

**~pagebreak~**

Steve frowned at the scene. Now, maybe he was a little out of touch, having spent seventy years in what Tony liked to call his "pretty badass cap-nap", but he was fairly sure that these people were going too far. Judging by the fact that Tony's repeated idle poking of his stomach was getting more and more half-hearted, he wasn't the only one to think so. He just hoped that Banner could keep it together. Hulking out in the middle of the park wasn't exactly good publicity.

He really did not like bullies. He had known a lot of them in his time, before he became the super soldier. Still, though he would dearly love to give these people a piece of his mind, it simply wouldn't do for Captain America to pulverise three SHIELD agents. He could see why they were upset. They had lost friends, comrades, and to add insult to injury they had lost them to an archaic weapon found in museums. That didn't give them the right to harm his team though.

He watched as Bruce stood, staying seated himself. That wasn't to say that he wasn't rooting for him.

**~pagebreak~**

"I wonder what happened with Coulson. Was it Loki who killed him, or Barton?" one of the agents wondered to his friends. Bruce snapped. He could tell that Coulson had been Clint's mentor. He hadn't spoken all day at the funeral.

"Stop."

He was on his feet, eyes fixed on the three agents. He felt the stares of his team-mates on his back, but he ignored them in favour of focussing on the threat.

_Smash? _asked the Hulk. Bruce hastened to refuse.

_No smash. Maybe a little scaring though._

_Good._

The first agent scoffed. "What? Afraid he'll get upset and kill you too?"

"No," he responded evenly. "I'm afraid that you aren't exactly endearing yourself to me and I'm rapidly losing patience."

One of the agents tugged on the first one's sleeve. "Leave it, Rotherman," he hissed. "That's Banner!"

The agent- Rotherman- paled slightly, eyeing Bruce. He snorted.

"Fine. I'll let you and your group of messed up freaks have your peace. Hopefully the next aliens will have them in pieces."

Bruce didn't really remember what happened next. All he knew was that five minutes later, the picnic basket was gone and the three agents were in the pond with matching black eyes.

He sat back down on the picnic blanket, ignoring the startled gazes as he picked up his sandwich again.

"So," he said conversationally. "Where were we?"

The discussion slowly picked back up, Bruce once more fading into the background where he liked it. He didn't miss Clint's penetrating stare, or the quick flash of a smile in his direction. And really, that was worth a bruised hand any day.

**~pagebreak~**

Sure, plenty of people thought Tony Stark was a selfish bastard. He did want them to think that most of the time. After all, if someone is selfish then they don't help others, and if they don't help others then there's no point tracking them down and asking for favours. Tony just didn't like being bothered. He wasn't really selfish. He was sitting in Central Park on Tuesday afternoon on a God damned picnic blanket, for Christ's sake. Never mind that he had hay fever. He wasn't about to ruin the day by bringing it up. But then there were these bozos standing blocking the sunlight and making Tony seriously consider breaking Fury's "no hurting people, no using reverse psychology on people when they get your order wrong, no killing people when they annoy you, no giving Thor espresso of any kind" rule. They were winding up Clint, and nobody had any business doing that but him.

Bruce had dealt with them. Quiet Doctor Banner, the biophysicist with truly astounding anger management issues, had stopped the agents from harassing Katniss without letting the Jolly Green Giant out to play. (Seriously, how the hell did skinny little Bruce manage to stuff that one agent in the picnic basket? Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know.) Non-lethal violence. Hard to top for legal revenge. To Tony, that sounded an awful lot like a challenge, and if there was one thing he loved, it was a challenge.

**~pagebreak~**

Many people called the Black Widow heartless. That wasn't true. Buried beneath six inches of metaphorical reinforced steel and concrete walls, she had a heart like any other woman. She loved chocolate, she loved fighting, she loved Johnny Depp. And if you ever accused her of loving Clint Barton, she'd put you through a wall just as thick as those around her heart. But not before you had a split second to realise that you were right.

Natasha loved him. So sue her. What, are you really going to confront her about it? Thought not. Still, assassins aren't meant to have feelings. The problem was that they did. They felt, they bled, they cried, they sweated, just like any other human. They were just better at hiding it.

So that was why when she saw the hurt in her partner's eyes, she put on her assassin expression and thought over ways to deal with the poor fools who dared torment her hawk.

**~pagebreak~**

Nick Fury paced his office, wondering what great evils, what hideous crimes, what unspeakable deeds he must have committed in a former life to deserve all six Avengers in his office on a Tuesday evening.

"Stark. Romanoff. Barton. Banner. Rogers." He wandered along the line of assembled heroes, pausing when he reached the thunder god. What the hell was he supposed to call him? Did Norse gods have surnames? His jaw flexed silently as he tried to work it out. From the other end of the line, Barton snorted. Cheeky brat. He eventually gave up.

"Thor."

That prompted another round of sniggering from several points along the line, though when he whipped around to glare at them he couldn't discern the culprits. He had his suspicions though.

He turned to Banner. "Would you care to tell me what happened?"

Banner flushed slightly and stared determinedly at his shoes. "Well... not really."

"Which of you miscreants would like to explain exactly what happened this morning?"

Barton raised a hand mockingly, waving it around like a child in nursery. "Ooh! Ooh! Pick me, sir! Pick me!"

He resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands and weep. Over the years, he had had many opportunities to be thankful for Coulson bringing the archer in. However, he had had just about the same number of opportunities to wish he had never met the man and his wisecracks. Especially now he was part of a team just as bad as he was, if Stark's high five around Romanoff's back was anything to go by.

He gritted his teeth. "Barton?" he ground out, feeling a definite headache blossoming behind his forehead. The archer put his hand down and affected an innocent expression.

"Well, there isn't much to tell really. We got up, Steve made breakfast- brilliant bacon, seriously. Bruce, you don't know what you're missing with your vegan-ness. The Captain does a mean rasher- Tony was a fail at wrestling, Thor got hungry, we had a picnic, got into a spot of bother and came home. Then we watched Star Wars and Nat thought lightsabers should be standard issue-"

"Back up a bit, Barton." Honestly, was a straight answer too much to ask for? What _did _he do in that former life time, ban chocolate or something?

Barton shrugged nonchalantly. "Star Wars?"

"No."

"Bacon?"

"Try again."

"Veganosity?"

"Barton."

"Wrestling?" he tried, holding out under Fury's one eyed glower.

_"Barton."_

He sighed and gave in. "Picnic?"

"Finally."

"Well, we had egg and mayonnaise sandwiches-"

"BARTON!" The headache was throbbing to the tune of The Song That Doesn't End behind his right eyebrow. His patience was long gone.

Barton shrugged again and poked Romanoff.

"Tag. You're in."

Fury sighed, turning to the Widow.

"Romanoff? Explanation."

The Russian examined her nails. "Like Hawk said, we went on a picnic and got into a little bit of difficulty. Nothing serious."

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he spun to Rogers.

"Rogers?"

The military man stood at attention. "We ran into a small situation which we managed to take control of. Situation resolved, sir. I don't believe there is any need for a debriefing."

He sense that there would be no way down that road. He turned to Thor.

"Well?"

The god rumbled, "We were feasting on some delightful sandwich snacks when we were approached by hostiles. We took care of the problem."

Fury groaned internally. That left him with one last hope for an explanation. He considered just grabbing Barton's bow and committing suicide by proxy. What cruel world would leave _Tony Stark _as his last hope for a sensible explanation?

"Stark? And no wisecracks."

The billionaire grinned and gestured wildly. "So we're sitting in the park when suddenly BAM!" He paused for effect, looking around conspiratorially. Fury found himself leaning in slightly.

"Bam?"

Stark nodded seriously. "Bam. Three monkeys in suits show up."

Fury exploded. "MONKEYS?! "A spot of bother", "a bit of trouble", "a small situation", "took care of it", "monkeys in suits show up", no answer! Will _one _of you bloody tight-lipped insubordinates just tell me why I have one agent with the flu and a now pathological fear of picnic hampers, one under sedation after he hallucinated thousands of spiders in his bedroom and one who even all the satellites and phones on earth can't track down?!"

Romanoff raised a hand boredly. "Those spiders were anything _but_ hallucinations."

Fury let out what sounded suspiciously like an angry shriek. "WHY?! WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!"

Banner blinked, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Err.. Director? Are you all right?" he ventured, eyeing the man with concern. Fury was beetroot purple with rage. Banner patted him on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Deep breaths, Director. Take a breath, count to ten, release the breath. Open your hand and close it. Another breath. Come on, hold it for ten," he coaxed. Fury found himself following the doctor's directions and discovered that he was a little less wound up. He shook his head and sighed, flopping back into his chair. The assembled line eyed him like he was mad.

"Just go," he groaned, massaging his temples. The headache had turned into a migraine, he had a sneaking suspicion he had just been coached in anger management by Bruce Banner of all people, and he still had no idea where Agent Rotherman was. It was the mad cherry on top of the insane cake.

He felt a hand clap his shoulder.

"Well, I'll be off then, Cap'n Hook. You best go track down that crocodile. I'm not saying I know anything, but hypothetically if I did know anything, you might be advised to check flight records under the name of Samuel Tupid and track it down. That _hypothetically _could give you a lead."

Stark ambled off down the corridor with his hands in his pockets, whistling cheerfully. The rest of the Avenger's excused themselves, though just before the door shut Fury heard a whisper of, "Do you think we should tell him about the CCTV footage?"

He let his head hit the desk.

**~pagebreak~**

Agent Rotherman (aka. S. Tupid) was later tracked down and found to be in Antarctica, living beside a penguin colony and looking distinctly frazzled. Apparently he kept narrowly avoiding being hit by lightning. At that point, Fury stopped bothering to call the Avengers into his office for their misdemeanors. He was better off not knowing, and there was less paperwork that way.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am in love with the Avengers. I've seen the anime series and I also am in love with the theme tune. Come on people, it's the most badarse theme ever. I love them all! Clint is mysterious, Thor is gorgeous, Steve is adorable, Natasha is epic, Bruce is shy and brilliant, and Tony is hilarious.

I don't own them unfortunately. Boo. Still, they're fun!

Please drop a review if you liked it, or even if you didn't. I could use a chance to practice my retaliatory snark.


	2. Avenger Bashing Privileges

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I intended this story to be a one-shot, but it was popular and people put it on alert, which I took as a pointed hint as I've done the same thing myself. THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed and favourited! I might take requests if anyone has ideas. It has to involve one Avenger being protective over another. I'm working on Clint being protective of Natasha, this is Loki being protective over Thor and the last was Bruce and Clint.

There were headaches, there were migraines, and then there was what Director Fury had.

No, really. He was well versed in headaches (the man was in charge of one of the most complex organisations in the _world_, after all) of varying degrees and the action succeeding it (booting the cause of the headache out of his office, the helicarrier or SHIELD, depending on the severity of the pain), and usually he never even bothered mentioning it. He would just take some Tylenol he kept in a tamperproof cabinet in his office and be done with it. So what could have made him admit defeat and come staggering into the medical bay, babbling about ice cream and "goddamn mother******* piss taking son of fleabitten llamas Loki"?

It probably would be fair to say that it was all the kitten's fault.

The Hulk roared at the Doombot which had blasted Bruce, instigating the Hulk-out. He picked it up and smashed it into the line of advancing robots, sending sparks and bots flying everywhere.

"BANNER LIKED THAT SHIRT!"

Stark shook his head. "Seriously, Green Bean? That's what you focus on?"

Privately, he was pleased. It showed that he was right when he claimed the Hulk cared for Bruce, and he did like being proved right. Especially when it came to his Science Bro (you could say that Bruce came up with the name, if you removed the sarcasm from the sleep deprived statement of "We haven't slept in four days, we're off our faces drunk on Scotch in your case and herbal tea in mine and are now attempting to add glitter guns to your suit at half past three in the morning. They'll start to call us the mad scientist bros soon.". On the other hand, it had been Tony who copyrighted it and bought custom made T-shirts.)

He turned his head back to the fight as a Doombot did its best to pierce his armour. He wagged a finger chidingly.

"Bad 'bot. My armour is cooler than yours but you don't have to try and break it. I know you must be greener than my friend here with jealousy, but do try to contain yourse- ARRK!"

When he told the story later, he would edit out the squawk as well as the way the blast from the lightning hitting the Doombot knocked him on his metal posterior.

"OI! Lucius Malfoy, careful with the aim!"

Thor tipped Mjolnir in brief acknowledgement before turning back to the fight. Tony grinned as he surveyed the scene. The Doombots were being driven back, decimated by their combined skills. Clint was perched on the Hulk's shoulder, having formed a close attachment to the Hulk as well as Bruce. He shot explosive arrows, fireball arrows, flash-bang arrows- every dirty trick in the book. Widow was on the other side of the street, using her wrist tasers to blast anything within twenty feet. Hulk smashed, careful not to lose his passenger. Thor and Steve were back to back, one sending out his shield and the other directing lightning through his hammer. They were winning by miles.

Of course, it was at this point that Doom popped out of the pavement with another army of robots.

"Oh sh*t."

Doom cackled as his robots advanced on the battered Avengers. They would be as ants beneath his feet when he finally obliterated them, taking out the so-called "Earth's Mightiest Heroes." He couldn't wait to tell the others at the Villainous Monthly Meeting!

His internal monologuing was cut short when the giant green monster launched itself at him.

"Oh sh*t."

Clint yelped as he fell back off the Hulk's shoulder, twisting just in time to avoid landing on a rampaging Doombot.

"Oh sh*t!"

Steve cheered as the Hulk steered himself on a straight course towards the cackling inventor. He was right on target for an ex-Doom and a speedy resolution to the fight. Then they could go and get some hot dogs. (Hey, he's patriotic and has a high metabolism, okay? Sheesh, Tony gives him endless mocking for his "uber-American-ness".)

Then the Hulk saw something which made him change direction, yelling at the top of his considerable voice.

"KITTY!"

Oh, snickerdoodles.

A tiny kitten was licking her paw as she took in the scene. It didn't look much like it had before her mummy had set her down for a nap and she was confused. Really, she should have been still napping rather than exploring the streets, but humanity never bothered with obedience so she didn't see why she should. Then there was an enormous green thing in front of her, staring at her with wondrous eyes.

"Kitty cute!"

She preened and went "meep", before winding her way around his ankles and leaving the destroyed street to find her mother. The Hulk stared happily after her.

"Aww."

Stark stared incredulously at the kitten stalking off, Hulk dopily grinning at her retreating back. Down a fighter, the Doombots overwhelmed them, though they steered clear of the Hulk.

"I think your priorities are a little skewed her, Emeraldzy," he called as the Doombots overcame him, dragging him to Doom and roughly shoving him to his knees in the rubble. Clint, Natasha and Steve were getting the same treatment, but Thor had twice as many bots on him. He was yanked in front of Doom, who grinned widely.

"Long have I awaited this day, Avengers. The day I would finally get to meet the group laughably known as "Earth's Mightiest Heroes."" He laughed disparagingly, turning to Thor.

"They call you a god, you know," he added casually. "I disagree. I am the only one with the power of a god on this puny planet, and I will be the one to remedy this... oversight."

He spun to face the other Avengers, cackling dramatically.

"This is the day that Doom will reign supreme! I will obliterate you all, you Spandex simpletons, and then I will kill this Norse ninny and then I will go for cake and plan my coronation as Grand High Poobah of Ear- ARRK!"

Tony yelled in triumph, "HA! See, I'm not the only girlish squealer! Did anybody else hear that? That was a squeal!"

He was ignored, however, as the other Avengers were concentrating on the tall figure behind Doom's fallen body dusting his hand off on his black armour.

"I'm afraid cake is off the menu, you poor deluded man. Were you just attempting to kill my brother?"

If anybody had been listening to Doom at that moment, they would have heard a very faint groan of "Oh, _sh*t!"_

_"Loki?!"_

The god in question rolled his eyes at their thunderstruck expressions.

"Awfully sorry to burst your bubble, but no, I'm the bringer of pizza deliveries."

He sighed as the sarcasm went over Thor's head yet again.

"Pizza? But I did not order this delivery of piz-"

"Thor, shut it. I'm trying to clean up your mess here, if you don't mind."

He wheeled back around to the whimpering "sorcerer". Honestly, he hadn't hit him that hard. It would barely have made Thor whimper. Much.

"YOU. I have a bone to pick with you, if you don't mind." He advanced, plastering what Thor had always called his "psychopath smirk" on his pale face.

"You seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that there is open season on the Avengers. I disagree."

He ignored the flabbergasted faces of the "Spandex simpletons" (honestly, the poseur was abysmal when it came to pithy insults.) as Doom hauled himself to his feet, attempting to regain control of the situation.

"Loki. It's been a while, has it not?"

Loki scoffed. "Two months. I missed the last VMM. Can you possibly blame me? The last time I attended, MODOK ate my sandwiches and I was forcibly ejected for reducing him to fine particles of ash."

Doom nodded in a seemingy reasonable manner; having been there to witness that particular incident and made aware of exactly how much of a bad idea it was to make Loki mad, he did his best to alleviate the glacial tone in Loki's voice.

"Very well. Have you come to share in my glorious ascent? I shall kill this pretentious god and the rest of them and then I will reign-"

Loki sighed. "You seem to be monologuing again, Doom. Do try to stop, there's a good man. I am not here to join your frankly pathetic attempt at world domination. You seem to be exactly the sort of deluded, hubristic lesser being whom I would like nothing more than to show what true power is. In case you were unaware, your pathetic amount of magic is barely enough to create a jester's display."

Doom blustered furiously. "You- I- power- could defeat you any day!"

Loki waved a hand, bored. "Yes, yes, you could defeat me any day, you don't monologue, you aren't a hardcore Brony, the moon is made of bilgesnipe dung... Just save what little dignity you still retain and leave while you can."

Doom continued to splutter. "You were the one to attack the city and the Avengers not six months ago!"

"Time is relative," Loki muttered, waving a hand airily. "Anyway, that is exactly my point. Should there be any Avenger-bashing taking place, it will be executed by me. The _actual _god in this discussion. Not a pathetic failed villain like you."

"I AM NOT A FAILURE!"

"My dear Doom, you monologue. You are a walking cliche."

Doom scowled. "I will reign unchallenged!" he roared, raising his hands in Thor's direction. Magic crackled around them, ready to unleash a fatal dose at the thunder god.

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he hissed.

"LOKI! GET YOUR BONY BUTT BACK OVER HERE THIS NANOSECOND!"

Thor frowned. "You will not summon him in that manner. Loki does what he wishes: he is the god of mischief, after all. Also, you could be a little less rude when addressing my brother. He did just save us all."

Fury's eye twitched. "Is this what you call saving?"

Thor nodded happily. "He disposed of the Bots of Doom and saved my life in the process. Though I am not entirely sure why..." he frowned, staring ponderously into space. Fury gritted his teeth together.

"He_ turned them into ice cream!"_

He ignored the ice cream-ball fight going on behind him. Barton was positively burying Stark, Rogers and Banner, who had changed back (and thank _God _Stark finally invented stretchy pants) and was teamed up with Romanov.

"Not just the Bots of Doom, Man of Fury. My brother has transformed the street itself into around thirty seven flavours of deliciousness!"

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose and called on the breathing techniques Banner had taught him.

"AVENGERS! FALL IN!"

He ignored the rum and raisin ice cream-ball which promptly socked him in the back of the head in favour of gathering himself. He also ignored the way Romanov's hand lingered a moment longer than necessary as she wiped what looked like Blueberry Bonanza (seriously, when did the nutjob god ever learn about ice cream?) off Barton's face, because that would have caused some serious paperwork if he had seen it.

He groaned. Serious paperwork? He was walking on Cherry Chocolate paving slabs, and that partially eaten blob of Coconut Crunch looked suspiciously like a bus might if it was flash frozen by dairy products.

He eyed up the line of ice-cream-splattered heroes with mounting tension behind his eyebrows. Banner's back was covered in Raspberry Ripple from when he had turned his back on his ally ("Oi, Kwai Chang Caine, you can't just _abandon your Science Bro _to Stalin and Robin Hood! OI! Don't build a Strawberry Summer snowman, HELP ME! I'M TAKING BACK THE T-SHIRT!"), Romanoff was spotless but for a single Blood Orange splat on her right shoulder which matched the one on Barton's left kneecap and Stark was a bizarre Pollock-esque canvas of rainbow colours. Thor, whom Fury had collared as soon as he arrived on scene, had escaped with only a few splatters, evidence of hw quickly SHIELD had discovered the existence of eight streets entirely made of ice cream.

_"So."_

He paced up and down the line with the distinct feeling of deja vu. Or was is deja vecu? He didn't really care, but he did want a distraction from the ridiculous situation at hand.

"Stark. Would you care to volunteer an explanation?"

"Why, Director, this is all so sudden! Shouldn't we go to dinner first?" He fluttered his eyelashes ridiculously.

"Stark. You look like a modern art canvas. Why do you look like a modern art canvas?"

Stark pouted, _actually pouted._ "Because Merida aims like a boss and doesn't like Disney Princess comparisons and Rasputin is excellent at distractions."

Fury sighed. "Very good, Stark, but that doesn't entirely answer my question. Banner?"

The scientist grinned in an impish manner. Dear gods above, this "Science Bro" (he reluctantly added the mental "TM", having no desire to be sued by two of the smartest and most mischievous scientists on the planet) partnership was going to be the reason for the apocolypse. If they ever went the way of Doom, the whole world would be utterly... doomed.

"The Hulk seems to like kittens. I may investigate further."

"... what?"

Banner's hand came up to rub the back of his neck. "Ah, well, we were getting on very well to begin with. We were winning and everything until a kitten appeared and he got distracted." He sighed wistfully. "I like kittens."

Fury's mouth flopped open in a highly unprofessional manner.

Romanoff leaned around Barton to poke Banner, who jumped but didn't react. No doubt Stark had him used to unexpected prodding.

"Congratulations, you achieved Haweye's lifelong goal in one afternoon. You broke Fury."

Fury snapped his mouth shut hastily.

"_So. _You get distracted by a kitten. Doom appears with reinforcements and nearly kills Thor, _Loki _appears, insults Doom and turns him into a statue wearing a tutu and turns his entire army and the surrounding area into _ice cream _of all things, and none of you have any idea _why?!_"

"... Yes. But see, man of Fury, it tastes of strawberries!"

Fury gave up.


	3. What's In A Name?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is technically not canon. However, I am working on a story where Clint was an assassin before SHIELD, so this fits with that verse. Don't shoot me. I get it, it's not 100% accurate! And I know that Natasha would kick the arse of whoever was _stupid _enough to make an attempt on her life, but either way Clint would not stand for it. Spider-squishing privileges are only _his_ and only when he can beat her at hand-to-hand.

The theory is that people turning up with arrows stuck in them is conspicuous so Hawkeye would be a bit legendary, especially teamed with the Black Widow. Infamy? They Has It. He would be more well known than Natasha because she varied her methods and preferred stealth, but Clint used archery.

For those who wanted some Clintasha, I love it so will stick it in at every opportunity over the story. However, I'm not that good at romance, so... no promises.

~*pagebreak*~

"I want to hire an assassin."

Kevin Smith spoke perfectly clearly. He didn't mumble, mutter or murmur; he plainly stated what he wanted. So why exactly was the Boss looking so baffled?

The Boss was the leader of a prolific agency of hitmen, with contacts in every country and alliances with every branch of assassins and terrorists in the world. If you wanted somebody gone, you went to the Boss and he would patch you through to the best assassin for your specifications. Simple stuff.

"You do?"

Kevin faltered somewhat. "Err... yes?" He wasn't sure why he made that a question. He _did _say it already. "I mean, yes. I do."

The Boss blinked and shrugged. "Right. I just wasn't expecting it. A man of your name seems to not be the assassin-hiring type. An insurance salesman, maybe," he mused, tapping a pen on the oak desk. "What does an insurance salesman need to hire a hitman for?"

Well, _that _was unexpected. "What?" he gaped, before remembering that this was probably the most powerful criminal in the underworld and closed his mouth. "Err, right. I need to hire one to kill Natasha Romanoff."

He was not expecting the Boss to explode with laughter.

"You are a funny man, Kevin," he choked out between chuckles. "I like that."

Kevin blinked. "I'm serious. The woman spurned me in Rio de Janeiro. I need revenge!"

The Boss stopped laughing. "Are you insane?"

The frank question was startling. Kevin nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged, a bit baffled.

"I don't think so... why?"

"Only a crazy person would try to kill the Widow! Apart from the fact that she herself is a skilled assassin, do you know who her partner is?"

Kevin shook his head, still confused. "Umm... should I?"

The Boss sighed. "Look, kid, you go and do your research properly and I'll go and see if I can find somebdy stupid enough to take the hit. Come back on Tuesday."

Kevin nodded, bolting for the exit. That was one strange conversation he was keen to discontinue.

**~pagebreak~**

He was in Switzerland now, in a stark room full of master assassins. This was the procedure. The Boss would select a country, then send the customer to meet the Assassins' Council for that country. If all went well, you would leave with one enemy fewer and a few hundred thousand dollars lighter. If not, you would wake up in Siberia, if you woke up at all.

"Who's the target?"

Kevin fumbled in his pockets. He had taken the advice of the Boss and not mentioned a name, instead procuring a picture he had swiped off _her _back in Rio. A redhead with a gun in one hand, pointing a paintball gun at the person beside her. He held it out to the Council, willing his hands to stay steady.

He was met with a shriek from the Council leader.

"Treachery! You mean to lure us to our deaths! Treachery!"

They all drew weapons from various places. Kevin barely had time to wonder where that woman in the fitted jumpsuit had hidden that Glock before they were all pointed straight at his heart. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow.

"What?! No! I just want this woman killed!" He stabbed a finger at the abandoned photo on the floor, fear coiled in his stomach. The leader laughed darkly.

"As if we could accomplish that. We are not fools- this is the Black Widow. She is a capable killer, to say nothing of her partner!"

The assembled assassins shuddered as one. Kevin flushed. He hadn't quite managed to do the required reading on the Widow or her infamous partner yet.

"Her partner?"

The leader motioned for him to pick up the fallen photograph. Kevin nearly fell over himself to do so. When a man holds your life in the balance, you damn well pick up what he wants you to pick up.

Shaking, he held it out. The leader snatched it off him, waving it furiously.

"This man," he hissed, beckoning him forward. Kevin leaned in to examine the picture more closely. A man stood half in and half out of the frame, pointing a paintball gun at Romanoff. He was nothing special. Tall, with sandy hair and greyish eyes-

Kevin blinked, looking closer. Those eyes held his attention. There was something... off about them.

"This man-" the picture was waved around again, nearly knocking off the rather ostentatious hat of the woman beside the leader. "- this man, is _Hawkeye! _We will have no truck with him! We will not go near him, we will not attack him, we will not do anything at all which _hints _that we may have the tiniest emotion towards him which he could perceive as in the _slightest _way threatening! We don't even _think _dangerous thoughts near him!"

Kevin was a bit confused, and a bit terrified, and a bit confused because he had a feeling that he should be very afraid of this man but he had no idea why, and a bit annoyed that he couldn't isolate enough of one emotion to stop referring to it as a _bit_.

"But... I don't want to kill _him_. Just Romanoff."

The leader shrieked and lunged forward to clap a hand over his mouth, looking quite deranged.

"_Don't say that!" _He whispered, looking around as though he thought someone could hear him. "Don't even think it! You never threaten his partner! NEVER! Understood?"

He nodded, eyes wide above the hand still clamped over his mouth. He resisted the urge to bite it. He knew he would be leaving in several bags if he did. He just wanted to get out and ask the Boss to try another agency.

The leader withdrew his hand, wiping it on his front. "Go. Leave now, and never contact us again. Ever. We will have no part in this."

Feeling faintly miffed by his rough treatment, Kevin scooped up the picture and went to make his exit.

"By the way, Kevin," the leader's voice halted him. "You might want to do something about the name. You sound like an insurance salesman."

**~pagebreak~**

This was insane. This was beyond reason. This was abso-bloody-lutely _nuts! _He had been to almost every country in Europe within the space of two weeks, and every time they turned him away either laughing or scared off their heads! Italy- the Council leader had heard "Hawkeye" and hidden behind the desk, wildly shrieking "he's not here, is he? Is he?!" Britain- "You'll be bloody lucky!" Germany- was fine with it, until they actually tried to assign an assassin. They _all _called in sick on the same day. _Every single assassin in Germany _called in sick to avoid the mission. Holland- the Council had tried to throttle him for saying the name aloud. Freaking _Lithuania- _"We don't do business with loonies, _Kevin." _China- "我们不要乱用鹰或寡妇，疯狂的推销员!" which he _thought _translated into another jab at his name and question as to his sanity.

Which brought him here. To France, in the Parisian Assassin's Club, which he still could barely believe existed. He was just hoping that this time, _somebody _would let him hire an assasin already!

"So, you are the one we have heard about. The one seeking to kill the Veuve Noire and spite the Hawk."

Kevin shook his head, frustrated. "I don't care about this Hawk! I just want to kill the woman!"

He was extremely jetlagged and at the minute would quite happily trade his whole plan for revenge for a nice cup of coffee. He had no idea _who _this Hawkeye was but quite frankly he was sick of the featherbrain already.

The French leader- known only as "Jean"- frowned.

"You cannot kill one without the other. They are inseparable, not as in the small child "we'll be friends forevermore" sense, but as in you cannot separate the sky from the earth. Without each other, they are nothing. Together, they are unstoppable."

Kevin snorted. "A spider and a hawk. Not exactly the most compatible pair."

Jean frowned again. Kevin felt rather chastised under such disapproval. "You should not mock the hawk. He is not only dangerous, he is _deadly. _He was an assassin in America when he was seventeen years of age. In one year, he took 137 jobs. 137 people died. He was so good at his job, he could afford to give the target twenty four hours of warning, to pretend to even the field. One arrow sent through their window, through the centre of a picture of them. He dropped out of the agency years ago, but still bodies turn up now and then with the arrows of the hawk."

Kevin blinked. He could have sworn that he said _arrow_, but that was insane.

Jean read his expression. "Yes, arrows. He shoots with the bow and the arrow, and he never, ever misses."

A faint chill ran up Kevin's spine. He got the feeling that the French agency would be no help, and was proved right in the next moment.

"I believe our business is concluded. I apologise for your wasted journey."

Mumbling acceptance, Kevin turned to leave. It could have been worse. He could have insulted his name-

"Oh, before you go," the leader called. He stopped, swearing under his breath. "What was your name?"

He sighed. "Kevin. Kevin Smith," he mumbled. Cheeks flaming, he ran. Not quite quickly enough to avoid hearing the laughter behind him.

**~pagebreak~**

With the Boss' words ringing in his ears ("Please try not to let him know about Hawkeye. I am actually running out of countries to send you to!"), he made his way towards the meeting room. Perhaps the Russians would be more amenable. The Boss was getting desperate and had forgone the usual formalities in favour of a straightforward meeting with Steven Bogrov, a stockily built assassin famous for his deadly chokehold.

"I need to kill a woman. But she is well guarded."

The man merely shrugged. "I can get through protections. She will be disposed of."

Kevin grinned. Maybe this would be fine after all. He should just leave it at that and leave.

His traitorous mouth worked against his will. "She is guarded by Hawkeye."

"ястреб?" Steven shrugged, unconcerned. "I can handle. I met him once. He would probably not shoot me on sight." The hitman paused. "Possibly. What is this woman's name?" he asked, knocking back a drink.

Kevin could barely believe his luck. "Natasha. Natasha Romanoff."

Steven sprayed his drink across the table. Kevin staggered back, wiping coffee from his burning face.

"черная вдова?! Нет! никоим образом не в аду, сумасшедший американец!"

Kevin wasn't sure whether he had been insulted or not, but the expression on the previously confident assassin's face had him scurrying for the exit.

"We do not fight our own! We do not touch the Вдова! Cтраховой агент!"

**~pagebreak~**

Kevin flopped down on his bed with a frustrated half-groan, half-scream. Seventeen countries across three continents, and none of them would let him hire an assassin. For God's sake, all he wanted to do was kill _one _woman! He sat up with a sigh and scooped up a dart, aiming for a map of the world on his wall. Maybe it would land in the middle of the ocean and he'd have to try Atlantis.

"You're doing it wrong."

Kevin considered himself a very reasonable person. So when a man literally fell from his ceiling to land in a graceful crouch inches from his nose he did _not _scream girlishly, but it would have been a _perfectly _reasonable reaction if he had. Really.

"Youthewhothewhatyoujustdo_whaaaaargh_?!"

He dropped the dart and fell off the bed in shock. A strong grasp on his upper arm yanked him to his feet. He straightened involuntarily as he was hauled upright to face the intruder. A tall man with sandy hair, stormy grey eyes and a quiver strapped to his back. His gaze wandered to the bow in his other hand. His mouth popped open in horrified realisation. Oh, _shi_-

"I'm Hawkeye. Nice to meet you. You're the guy who's been trying to hire someone to kill my partner."

The words were said lightly, but those eyes hardened and became impossibly cold. Kevin felt rather like he was drowning in the pools of mercury, hypnotised and terrified. He stuttered a little and stepped back. The man- _the Hawk- _smiled coldly.

"Yeah, good luck with that, kid. The only person on this _planet _who could kill Tasha is me, and I have no intention of trying. You're aiming that dart wrong."

He casually bent and plucked the fallen dart from the carpet, tossing it over his shoulder without so much as a glance. It hit the map with a soft thunk- exactly over Manhattan. Roughly where they were standing, actually. Kevin felt a bit faint.

"Umm. Yes, well, I may have been trying to get that done, but I didn't! I didn't hire anyone!"

Kevin attempted to look earnest, though it was rather hard in the face of such an unimpressed expression.

"Not, I see, for lack of trying." Hawkeye flopped on the bed, pulling out a StarkPhone. He muttered something along the lines of "stupid Stark replacing my stuff" before tapping the screen to pull up a document.

"This is a list of the seventeen agencies you tried before admitting defeat, including the KGB, the Italian Mafia, the Parisian Assassins' Club and the Triad. I'm impressed at your determination, but- sadly for you- both I and my partner have free reign and immunity in the underworld of every country in the world excepting Eritrea and Sealand. We're still working on those." He slipped the phone into his pocket, fixing his gaze on the shell shocked man.

"So. Who the hell are you, and what do you have to do with Tasha?"

Kevin's mouth dropped open indignantly. "You don't know? She didn't tell you? She didn't mention how we met in Rio and she spurned my advances and _knocked me into the fountain?! _She _ruined _my suit!"

Hawkeye's brow furrowed. "That's it? She knocked you into a fountain? Why?"

Kevin flushed. "I may have refused to give her photo back unless she went out with me. She overreacted!"

The archer ran a finger along his bow contemplatively, seeming perfectly at home in Kevin's apartment. "Hm. This was last year?"

Kevin nodded, indignation returning as he recalled the incident. Hawkeye smirked.

"Do you remember who she was meeting in Rio?"

He frowned and cast his mind back in an effort to remember. There had been a carnival, and the pretty Russian, and she said...

_"Leave me alone, little boy. I'm meeting a friend."_

_He had smiled jauntily, keeping hold of the picture that fell from her bag. He glanced down at it. Her beauty was captured on the glossy paper, a recent shot. She was wearing the same green hairclip, though her expression was very different._

_He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "I can be your friend."_

_She snorted in contempt. "I have my friend, and he is better than you could ever be."_

_His ego was flattened slightly, but he pressed on, determined to at least get a smile, if not her number._

_"Give me my picture and go."_

_He shook his head mischievously. "Nope. Have a drink with me first."  
_

_She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. "I said, give me the picture and go."_

Her accent became more pronounced as she became irritated. A voice drifted over.

"Hey, Tash, look! A shooting stall! Want to beat the highscore?"

_Her face softened almost imperceptably as she turned to the voice. She looked back at Kevin, leaning in. He leaned in as a response._

_"I could kill you in sixty seven ways right now with no sound, blood or evidence. Not to mention that my friend sees everything and does not like people. I suggest you cool off now."_

_She reached out and grasped his hand almost tenderly, before yanking over her shoulder and into the fountain behind her. He hit the water with a splash, drawing attention and laughter like flies to honey. He spluttered as she stalked off, hair billowing behind her as she touched the elbow of a tall man with light brown hair. They melted into the crowd, leaving only a soaking wet Kevin, a slightly water-spotted picture bearing a name and the lingering scent of her perfume._

His eyes widened. "Oh..."

The man smiled grimly. "Oh," he agreed, standing fluidly. "Now, I should kill you for threatening Tasha, but I _really _can't be bothered filling in the paperwork. So, I'll just leave you with this thought." He leaned down to Kevin's level, watching as he squirmed.

"I am a sniper. An assassin, a deadly shot, and I could kill you at any given moment. On your way for a coffee tomorrow from a building three blocks away or in five years time on your wedding day. On your birthday, on a bank holiday, on Christmas, on the weekend or just when I get bored. You should be on your guard at all times, at all hours. Sleep with one eye open, because you never know when your luck will run out. So, Kevin Smith, ex-insurance salesman with a name to match." He sat on the windowsill, head cocked to the side as he grinned. "Do you feel lucky?"

Shaking, terrified, Kevin watched as the master assassin jumped from his third floor apartment. He looked up to see the cover of the air vents missing and a post-it stuck to the ceiling.

_Stick to insurance, kid. The Hawk sees everything. Love, Hawkeye =P_

Two days later, Kevin moved to Eritrea.

~*pagebreak*~

"Hey, featherhead, where've you been?"

Clint shrugged his bow off and stashed it carefully on the wall-sized display board Tony had put on the wall after seeing his and Natasha's arsenal ("You people could storm Fort Knox if you wanted!" "How did you know about that?" "... oh God, you actually _did?!" _"Oh sh*t.") of weapons stashed in about fifty duffel bags in their rooms. Bows, tasers, rifles, pistols, automatics, semi-automatics, a bazooka and a couple of swords. Despite contrary belief, archery wasn't the only archaic weapon Clint could use. The board didn't contain all of their weapons (old habits died hard, and survival instincts died harder. Plus they didn't want to freak Stark out further if he saw the miniaturised cannon and RPGs) but it was a nice thought.

"Nowhere special, just tying up a few loose ends," he said easily. Tony frowned.

"That sounded ominous. I don't know about anybody else but considering where you're standing, that sounded ominous to me."

He gave a half smile. "Did it, now?"

"Yes it did."

"You want to know where I've been?"

"Yes."

"Fine, I'll tell you."

"Really?"

"Nope."

"...I hate you."

"Love you too, Stark."

He sidestepped Tony, leaving him scowling in the hall as he breezed into Tasha's room. He was met by an icy stare.

"I just received a message from Steven Bogrov. He says to claim no ties to an insurance salesman from Manhattan as you were likely to do something drastic."

He attempted a smile. "Well, I wouldn't say drastic-"

"Clint. Have I ever given the impression that I need help?"

Her voice was decidedly frosty. He shook his head, chastened.

"No."

"Am I some helpless maiden, a damsel to be rescued from peril and protected from the outside world?"

She took a step closer.

"Certainly not."

Another step.

"Then _why _did you not leave me to deal with the threat myself?"

They were only a few steps apart. He paused, trying to put a name to his reasoning. He did it because he wanted to protect her, to make sure that creep never came near her. He did it because he owed her for saving his butt so many times. Because he had seen her attacked too many times. Because if he had such a bad reputation, he might as well make use of it. Because no one but him would ever know that she was touched he would track down a potential threat and neutralise it before anything could happen to her. Because she was everything to him and he would sooner cut his own throat than let anything harm her. Because _Budapest. _Because their ledgers were both red, but they didn't care about that. Because they both were the only person they would sleep in the presence of. Because the look she had now, half annoyed, half amused and wholly _his_, was worth it.

"Because... I love you."

"Love is for children," she snapped automatically. The distance between them slowly shrank as they inched closer together.

"I never had much of a childhood."

"Nor did I."

"Then let's be childish together."

Their lips met, pressing together in a chaste but sweet kiss. Drawing away, Natasha smiled, a real, soft smile.

"I think I can do that, my hawk."


End file.
